Hung over, painting trim in the mansion on the hill. The electrician’s boom box sounds half a world away :

“Come on, come on, come on, come on Now touch me, babe Cant you see That I am not afraid?”

For a second, you’re thinking - Tom Jones? Covering The Doors?

But no - no, it’s the actual song.

And then it hits you, if Jim Morrison were still alive today, he would be playing Vegas show rooms. Still wearing the same leather pants, wrinkled as a Sun Rype raisin. An acid fueled revival of faded glory - dick out, fending off the broads with his walker.